He was jist “givin” this Lexture abuot how he is Goingto hunt doawn and kill evvry boddy who was evver Meen to himb and evvry boddy who evver Dis-resspected himb and aslo evvry One “who” done Micro Grecians aginst himb!!!! This it was “a” reely Grate Lexture and sumbtimes he laffed “and” sumbtimes he Cryed and aslo sumbtimes he jist Screemed and banged his hed on the Black Bored!!

Wel some Rat he mustof caled The Poleece i bet it was sumb stopid dope who has got bad Hetero Normantivvaty!! And To-niht wee “are” “goingto” has a Demon Striation to maik themb let “himb out” of Jale!!!! No Jutstus No Piece!!!!!!!!!! He is sutch a goood gye he evin gived us “all” A++++es!!

The thing that bugs me about chess books is that they tell you how to play a certain kind of opening, but almost never tell you why. They don’t tell you what the opening is intended to do.

I don’t want to bore those of you who don’t play chess, so I’ll keep this brief. These are a couple of my favorite openings, and I’m going to tell you why I play them. You can go just about anywhere and find out how to play them.

The King’s Gambit is the chess equivalent of slamming open the swinging doors of the saloon and offering to shoot it out, here and now, with the toughest gunslinger there. It leads to a lively game.

The Polish Opening, aka ‘the Orang-utang,’ looks to most opponents like a very stupid first move that no one but a rank beginner would make. It’s much stronger than it looks, and much of its strength comes from convincing your opponent to think you’re a patsy. I beat a regional champion with it once.

(Uh, Lee, people in the audience are starting to check their wristwatches…)

Philidor’s Defense makes you, playing Black, look timorous; but if you know what you’re doing, this opening can help you to take the offensive much sooner than your opponent expected.

(I will be amazed if anybody reads this, likes it, or comments on it. Am I absolutely sure I want to do this?)

The Weeping Willow: Sigh deeply, dab your eyes with a handkerchief, blow your nose–and then break into sobs. When your opponent asks what’s wrong, make a show of holding it back, but then cut loose with a story that the doctor has just told you that you have only a few more weeks to live, and it would mean so much to you if you could just win a few chess games before the Grim Reaper shows up at your bedside… “And I guess I’ll never find out what happened when my house burned down with everybody in it, even my tropical fish, and then the insurance company wouldn’t pay–but never mind, I shouldn’t have burdened you with my troubles…” And so on.

Turn we now unto one of the chapters skipped over by Violet Crepuscular in her mad rush to Chapter CCC of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney. Constable Chumley, with Lord Jeremy Coldsore, the American adventurer Willis Twombley, and Johnno the Merry Minstrel peering over his shoulder, at the start of Chapter CCXCIII, is picking the lock so they can search the attic of Coldsore Hall for the missing Marquess of Grone, Lord Cromleigh or whatever his name is. Sheesh, what a sentence!

“By Jove, the attic’s the only place where we haven’t put in any antimacassars to fend off the spirit of Black Rodney,” Johnno is about to point out. But before he can admonish Chumley to be careful, a tremendous explosion nearly hurls the whole group back down the stairs. “Kaboom!” writes Ms. Crepuscular. “I have always found, in describing an explosion, that ‘Kaboom!’ is preferable to ‘Blasto!’ or ‘Boom!'”

When the smoke clears, the door is hanging from a single hinge and half the roof of Coldsore Hall has been blown off. Lord Jeremy, briefly contemplating the cost of repairing it, faints. Twombley just manages to grab him before he tumbles down the appallingly long flight of stairs.

“We never put any antimacassars in the attic,” Johnno remarks.

“A little late for that, ol’ hoss!” parries Twombley.

The constable’s helmet has disappeared, his uniform is in tatters, his hair disarranged, and his face awash with soot. “He looks rather like Wile E. Coyote after one of those Acme sticks of dynamite blows up in his face,” writes Ms. Crepuscular, in an intimate aside, “but of course I can’t mention that because it would be an anachronism.”

The attic is now in considerable disarray. If the missing peer is there, does he still live?

“I shall divulge that in the next chapter, breaking off here to heighten the suspense,” writes Ms. Crepuscular. She has forgotten that this has already been divulged by her writing Chapter CCC before Chapter CCXCII. So there’s no suspense to speak of.

We hadded to has “a” spacial meting of The Stodent Soviet “last” Nihght becose thare “is” a gye on campas he says he “is” a Jerafft and he whil Sue evry boddy witch says he Isnt!!!!

And yiu Know the Haters and Biggits thay whil be alll over This,, thay whil be Saying he isnt no Jerafft and That Is A Micro Grecian and anty-Intrasexional and Racist!!! And aslo a Attak on his Idenity!!! And aslo a Attak on Dyvercity its Self!!!!!!!!!! i has addded exter explamation Poynts to proove how Serias this it Is!!!!!!!!

Well frist we voated that “this” gye he REELY “is” a Jerafft and “that” wee The Stodent Soviet wee whil get anny boddy Expalled for hat speach wen thay do Jerafft De Nile!! Yes we whil Get “yiu” Kicked Out Of Collidge fore that!!! Becose thare cant be no True Freeedem unlest evry boddy thay al say and do and Think “the” sayme!!!!!! only it haves to bee watt The Stodent Soviet thinks and sayes or it dont Cownt! this tyme i put ownly One explamatoin Poynt to proove how Serias “this” Is!?;!

And thist moaning in Nothing Studies wee maid evvry stodent “sine” a Ohth that “this hear” gye he REELY is a Jerafft and thare “was” one Iddiat whoo sayed he woodnt sine nothing butt he chainged “his” Mined affter the Rest Of “us” we beet him Up!!!

In her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular has skipped from Chapter CCXCI to Chapter CCC. “I crave the reader’s indulgence,” she writes, “and I promise to go back and write those intervening chapters as soon as the police stop coming around here to investigate the toothpaste rolls I made for Mr. Pitfall. It was not my fault he ate too many and is now in intensive care at the hospital. Besides which, Chapter CCC is a milestone which I wanted to reach as soon as possible.” Of course, she could have written it first and saved herself the trouble.

This is how we wind up with half the roof blown off the top of Coldsore Hall, the Marquess of Grone found crouching behind some old steamer trunks in the attic with his hair frozen straight up from his scalp, babbling about the ghost of the medieval sorcerer, Black Rodney, stealing his pocket watch, and a whole mob of Scurveyshire peasants, armed with torches and pitchforks, disappearing under the vicar’s backyard wading pool. We have no idea how any of this happened.

Chapter CCC opens with the marquess in bed and Lady Margo Cargo bending over him with a can of fishing worms. He thinks she’s Queen Victoria, with whom he once played Chutes and Ladders.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, Your Majesty, but I am allergic to frumpweed and I wish you would remove it from under my nose,” whimpers the peer of the realm.

“Is he any better today?” asks Lord Jeremy Coldsore, standing in the doorway and doing his best to strike a dignified pose despite having two left feet.

“Oh, much better!” cries Lady Margo. She and Lord Jeremy cannot get married until the stricken peer recovers. “As you can see, those frozen hairs are falling out and his eyes have stopped rolling. But he’s still confused about certain objects.”

“My aunt is still weeping in the garden.” Lady Petunia, the marquess’ wife, has been weeping steadily ever since a piece of the chimney fell on her. And of course there was that business with the sliding board.

“I showed this chapter to my editor,” Ms. Crepuscular interjects, “and he says it’s the best thing I’ve ever written. He is a great believer in skipping chapters. And now I have to stop because the police are at my door again.”

It terns Out thare “are” Mollycules in Meet and Vejtibbles and themb Mollycules thay are watt maikes yiu Fat and maikes yiu aslo Whatch Fox News!!! Butt i was Feeeling Releaved becose yiu can stil eet jim sox and hankerchiffs thare isnt no Mollycules in thare!!! But then the Lexturer she sayed “i Hait to telll yiu this butt thare is Attems in pracktally Evry Thing and Attems thay meene Mollycules!!”!

and then somb Eaval whyte Soupremassist he wispered “O Yeah?? then how comb she her is so freekin Fatt??? she must waigh 3 hunderd powneds!!! butt” we herd himb so six of us wee beet himb up!!! Aslo now he hasto “go” to Sencertivatty Traning becose he is Aginst Divercity!!!!! We try not to lett enny Fashists into Nothing Studdies but thay “keep” sneeking “in”!” and maiking biggit speach!!!

Wel somb of Us we was whirryed yiu coodnt “eat” nothing at al becose amlost “Evvry” Thing its got Attems in “it” but that is OK afteral becose The Lexturer “she” toled us she cood cell us “theese” hear Pills witch yiu can take and “thay” “pre-vent” the Attems fromb buntching tagether “And” maiking Mollycules!!! So natcherly we al byed themb Pills so now we are “Saif” fromb Mollycules!!!!! It was a Close Cawl thuohgh!!!!!!

WordPress is still telling me they’ll fix my problem SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE. This wonderfully reassuring promise has inspired me to write a song… to the tune of The Village People’s classic, In the Navy.

In the Future

you can do your freakin’ work!

In the Future

you can sit there like a jerk!

In the Future

WordPress leaves in you the lurch

In the Future!

In the Future, at some undetermined date/ In the Future, WordPress swears it will be great/ In the Future, O fanabla, I can’t wait/ In the Future!

In the Future, when they change around your blog/ In the Future, when they treat you like a dog/ In the Future, when they need someone to flog… It’s you!

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I fear Violet Crepuscular has been eating too many of her own toothpaste rolls. Chapter CCXCI of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, suggests that maybe these confections are not quite as good for you as might be hoped.

With Lord Gromleigh, Marquess of Grone, still missing, Lord Jeremy Coldsore summons Constable Chumley–but he seems to be missing, too.

“Fear not, dear reader,” writes Ms. Crepuscular. “I know where he is. It’s the writer’s responsibility to know more than the characters.” Especially these characters.

Totally captivated by his study of moles, the constable has joined the Greater Scurveyshire Mole Study Club. Imagine his disappointment when it turns out to be just another one of those clubs whose members do nothing but sit around and brag about how difficult their lives have been.

“I went to a school where they used to make us do everything backwards. We tried to tunnel out of it, but we only succeeded in tunneling back in!”

“When I was born, my mother sold me to a fisherman to use as bait. And she only got sixpence for me!”

“You think you’ve got troubles? My wife has no nose!” And so on.

Meanwhile, Lord Jeremy’s wedding to Lady Margo Cargo cannot possibly be held as long as a peer of the realm is lost somewhere in Coldsore Hall. After failing to find him anywhere else, Johnno the Merry Minstrel proposes to search the attic.

“I don’t know about that,” Lord Jeremy says. “No one has been up there since Lord Hucklebutt went in 1673–and he was never entirely rational afterward. Eventually he had to be put down. Besides, no one has the key.”

“But Germy,” interposes the American adventurer, Willis Twombley, “ain’t it a well-known fact that nobody’s better than ol’ Chumley when it comes to pickin’ locks? He’ll get in, if anyone can.”

“I have ordered peasants with torches and pitchforks to search the shire for the constable,” declares Jeremy.

“And that, dear reader, is where we must let it stand for the nonce,” Ms. Crepuscular confides in the reader. “You really ought to try those toothpaste rolls. They’re wonderful with catsup.”

That nogood Racist Biggit Moreon Donold Trumpt,, soone he “wont” “be” pressadint no moar!!! Beeto O. Rork he whil be pressadint insted!!!!! Becose CNN thay taked a pole and the pole it “showed” Beeto he is a head by ten poynts!!!! and i was so hapy i runned out-side and jumped “all” aruond butt i had to Stop wen my Pants thay splitted!!

Of coarse i stil whant Hillery she shuld be pressadint but Beeto he is amlost as grate!!! i fourget weather he is fromb Tecksis or Suedan but that dont mater! He is so grate!!! aslo he is a genieist, he is “reel” Smart! and he wuld of won Last time only The Russhins thay rigged that ellectoin in wearever it was so that bumb Ted Croose he wuld win insted!! So voating for Beeto it is amlost the saim “as” Voating four Hillery!!!!!

And yiu woodnt beleave How increddably Poplar Beeto he is!!! Did yiu know that at “his” Last Raly he had amlost 30 peeple!?? No whey thay wood evver fitt “in” My prefesser”s Tool Shedd!!! Plus i heared that all themb 30 peeple at the raly thay was all genieistes tooo!!! That is a awphle lot of brane powwer in jist One plaice!!!!!

Sorry, Doc, but you are cut from the team. Vamoose! And don’t let the door hit you in the kiester as you leave.

I thought it might be nice to give some space on this blog to someone who believes what he hears from the nooze media and Hollywood; but heck, we’ve already got Joe Collidge for that. And there are still millions of nooze-eaters out there who think Hillary shoulda been president only darn old Donald Trump did Collusion With The Russians.

They’ve already got a voice, and more of a voice than is good for America. Dr. Credulous, you’ll just have to go back to teaching Intersectional Gender Fluid Superhero Self-Stimulation at Harvard.